


The Language of the Birds

by aleberg9



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:55:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aleberg9/pseuds/aleberg9
Summary: Jaskier meets up with Geralt and Ciri as they are on their way to Kaer Morhen, trying to outrun Nilfgaard. He is still hurt from the mountain and still pining, but he wants to help get Ciri to safety.Geralt just wants to keep his daughter safe, but destiny won't let him run from the bard or the sorceress, and sooner or later he will have to get in touch with his feelings.-Basically, Geralt is bad at relationships but good at being a dad. This is mostly show Geralt with book Ciri, because I love what a trouble maker she is. First few chapters will be mostly Jaskier centric but POV may shift and Yennefer will show up eventually cause I love her I'm just not sure how.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	1. A Man Saw a Bird (And Found Him Beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> Their location is roughly in Temeria headed to Kaedwen. 
> 
> I am mostly making up the climate because I can.

Jaskier thought he knew Geralt. 

He was never under any impression that he knew everything about Geralt. The Witcher was a very secretive person after all, and spoke only sparingly about himself. But after years of traveling on and off with the man, Jaskier though that the had a pretty good understanding of him. 

Traveling with Ciri blew that all out of the water. 

Geralt talked, when he was with Ciri. And not the monosyllabic words that Jaskier could usually pull out of him, or the long tirades that Geralt would go on when someone made the mistake of saying something wrong about monsters in his presence, but actual full conversations. He wasn’t chatty by any stretch of the imagination. It wasn’t like he had undergone a complete personality switch. (Or Jaskier would be worried that he was under some sort of spell) But the fact of the matter was that he talked.

Like right now, when Geralt and Ciri were a little ways ahead, Ciri riding on Roach while Geralt held her reins and Jaskier trailing a few steps behind. (that was the other thing, Geralt obviously had no issue letting Ciri touch his precious horse) Jaskier was strumming his lute, but very softly and mostly our of habit. His attention was fixed almost entirely on the words that were being spoken in front of him. 

“….And then I ran up the tree like a squirrel, like you said, and sat in the branches all afternoon.”

“All afternoon? I’m sure your Grandmother was very worried about you.”

“She didn’t know. She was in A Very Important Meeting and it was only the guards running around looking for me. They were very loud.”

“Your Grandmother would have taken their heads had they really lost you.”

“No she wouldn’t!…..Well, maybe. She would have taken their heads.  
But I came down before it got dark and they were all very cross but I promised not to tell if they didn’t tell and it was all over anyways. I just didn’t like that stupid tutor!”

Ciri made a face and crossed her arms over her chest. It was very easy to see her Grandmother, Queen Calanthe, in the way she tossed her head imperiously. 

Geralt, who had a stern, reprimanding look on his face, was turned attentively to listen, and even his frown couldn’t disguise the soft look in his eyes. 

It hadn’t escaped Jaskier’s notice that Geralt was completely in over his head with Ciri. Even though he tried to be stern with her and ostensibly disapproved of her rambunctious and sometimes dramatic mischief, he also could never quite disguise a conspiratorial glint in his eye. Jaskier had always thought of Geralt as endlessly stern and reserved, even on the rare occasions that he imagined Geralt as a child. Now, however, that little glint had him re-imagining everything that he had assumed and he couldn’t help but infer that Geralt had been just as much of a hell raiser as Ciri herself. 

Ahead of him, Geralt frowned thoughtfully and said, “I never had any etiquette lessons. I don’t think your tutor would have lasted very long at Kaer Morhen.”

“You never had etiquette lessons?!” Ciri stared down at Geralt as if he had said he had never seen the sky or heard a bird sing. “But they’re everywhere! Etiquette is….its like….its so important even my Grandmother had lessons.” Ciri waved her hand as she spoke for emphasis and Roach tossed her head at the movement. 

Ciri clearly held her Grandmother to a very high standard, and talked about her a lot. Neither Jaskier or Geralt corrected her when she spouted Calanthe’s praises. There would be time for Ciri to learn the bad along with the good about her beloved Grandmother, butt now wasn’t the time. Now she was still grieving. 

They had been walking since dawn, with only a brief stop for lunch. A concession which Jaskier suspected, Geralt only allowed for Ciri’s sake. Despite the jovial tone of their conversation and the pleasant autumn air, everyone felt the pressure to outrun Nilfgaard, and the threat of the encroaching enemy was a heavy weight on their necks. But now that evening was fast closing in, and the golden light of late afternoon was giving way to a purple dusk. And Jaskier’s feet hurt.

“Geralt!” He jogged a few steps to catch up and waved a hand to catch his attention,  
“I know you want to keep going, but we’ve been walking all day and I really don’t fancy the idea of setting up camp in the dark. Not all of us can see in the dark you know. Would it be too much to ask that we find a place to stop? My feet are practically falling off!”

Geralt turned his head to focus his piercing gaze on Jaskier. The angle of the fading sun caught his eyes and made them glow. In his dusty black armor and with his hair almost silver in the light, it was impossible for Jaskier not to take a second to appreciate his beauty. Maybe it was his endless infatuation, or maybe it was just Geralt, but there was something about the Witcher that even covered in the dirt of a hard days travel he was still the most gorgeous thing the bard had ever seen. Or maybe it was because of the dust. The rough casing that made the diamond shine that much more brilliantly.

“Ok”

Distracted as he had been, it took Jaskier a moment to remember what Geralt was agreeing to. 

“Perfect! And maybe we could find a stream. I am dying of thirst and my water flask has been empty for miles….”

Jaskier continued to babble whatever idle thought crossed his mind while Geralt began to cast a careful eye on their surroundings, occasionally pulling in lungfuls of air to scent the breeze. 

Since meeting up seven days ago, they had been traveling steadily north, and that terrain was starting to dry out as they moved closer to the Blue Mountains. The trees became mostly pine and grew further and further apart, while the dry summer grass was a dull gold in the thin autumn sun. The last village had been three days ago, and the last field had been two. Geralt had admitted that more villages were ahead, and it would be at least another week before they left civilization completely behind, but at this moment it was hard to belief him when all Jaskier could see was gently climbing hills and the fragrant trees. 

Eventually, Geralt led them off the path and into a corpse of trees. He led them a good two miles from the road, but sure enough there was a little stream, and a close grove of aspens which would help keep them concealed. 

Asides from Jaskier’s low humming, they fell silent as they set up camp. Jaskier collected firewood while Geralt vanished in the growing gloom to hunt. Ciri, much to Jaskier’s shock, had the task of caring for Roach. The usually snappish mare seemed happy enough to let the girl close, but that was not what had shocked Jaskier. It had been made painfully clear to him since his first meeting with Geralt that the Witcher’s horse was off limits. Even after close to two decades of traveling together, this had never changed. Jaskier could count on one hand the number of times he had been allowed on Roach, and they all usually involved extreme danger or a serious injury. When he had the coin he would secure his own mount for traveling, and when he didn’t he would walk. But he was never allowed to touch Roach. Even most stable hands, at the few inns that would allow Geralt to stay, were allowed to take care of Roach. 

But Ciri, apparently, was the exception. 

When Jaskier had first stumbled across the two, they had been huddled in the dark corner of a tavern, trying desperately to remain unseen as they curled protectively over bowls of stew. Unlucky for them but lucky for Jaskier, Geralt’s general bulk and presence was hard to hide, even when he had his hood up to hide his hair. 

At first Jaskeir had been so surprised at seeing the usually solitary Witcher in the company of what appeared at first glance to be a young boy that Jaskier did not think to approach. But it was hard to not put the dots together when all everyone was talking about was Nilfgaard and the fall of Cintra, and more and more Cintran refugees could be seen on the road each day. Jaskier himself had been playing one last evening in the tavern before he was planning on making his way north to Redania, but the second he saw Geralt of Rivia brooding in the corner he knew that he was going with the Witcher, wherever the damned oaf was going. 

So after playing his set, and after the halfhearted attention had died down, he made his way over to the Witcher, who in no way had missed Jaskier’s presence, and sat down with a mug of ale. 

The boy, who was revealed to indeed be a girl on closer inspection, flinched slightly at his approach, but a quick glance at Geralt’s impassive face seemed to calm her. Or at least it was enough to convince her that Jaskier was no immediate threat. It also confirmed what Jaskier had already assumed, that this was indeed the infamous child of surprise, Princess Cirilla of Cintra, dressed as a peasant boy with a dusty hat pulled low over her head and a fierce, desperate look in her eye. 

Geralt didn’t say anything, but cast a heavy, careful gaze on the bard. For once, Jaskier was equally quiet.

Their last parting hung heavy and unspoken in the air between them, but at that moment it seemed like it was almost unreal. What mattered was that once again, fate had deemed fit to throw the bard in the path of the Witcher, and like always, Jaskier could do nothing but be hopelessly swept up in the Witcher’s wake. He knew that at some point words would be spoken, and most of them would be his and would be angry, but in the face of Cintra’s fall and the inevitable reunion of Geralt with his child surprise, Jaskier found that those words would not come. 

Instead, what came out was, “I know you’re probably on the run, I know you’re in grave danger, but with you that’s always inevitable, and I really hope you have a plan but I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t, but I’m coming with you.”

Jaskier exhaled, and prepared to fight long into the night, but instead Geralt sighed, looked at Cirilla, back at Jaskier, and said, simply, “Yes.”

“I…Yes? Yes? I…um…well, yes! That’s settled then. Wow, I was really expecting more resistance. Are you sure, Yes?”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No! please, no. I’m coming with. I said it and you said yes and thats the way it will be.”

“Good.”

And that had been the first shock of the night.


	2. You Cannot Have An Opponent If You Keep Saying Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier And Geralt talk, sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about any typos. I'm making this up as I go, so I hope the time line doesn't get too messy. 
> 
> Let me know if Jaskier has too much emotional maturity, he is surprisingly hard to write.
> 
> And we get a mention of Yennefer!

After finishing their meal, they had retrieved Roach from the stable and set out to find a camp site a ways out of the town. Even had the inn been inclined to accept a Witcher, Geralt was obviously feeling too skittish about drawing attention to stay in a town that was quickly swelling with refugees. It was sure to turn ugly quickly, and Witchers had a way of getting caught up in any violence that occurred. 

During the meal itself, Geralt had been his usual monosyllabic self, while the princess had remained entirely silent, but Jaskier had gathered that they had stopped in town only two restock much needed supplies and to indulge in food that hadn’t been scavenged from the forest. He also learned that Geralt was planning on taking Cirilla to the mysterious Witcher fortress of Kaer Morhen, a place which Jaskier had only heard mentioned a handful of times but which he knew served as a home of sorts for the few remaining Witchers during the winter. 

Though he tried to engage the princess in conversation, she seemed to unsure of his presence still to say much of anything. Geralt was able to divulge, in as few words as possible however, that he had been traveling for two weeks after the fall of Cintra, looking for his child surprise, who had managed to escape the sacking of the city and had been on her own ever since. Though it was disheartening to think of what she might have been through to make her so suspicious, Jaskier couldn’t help but find her silence eerily similar to Geralt’s, and wonder what that meant for the rest of her personality. 

After Geralt eventually found her, he had been traveling steadily north, trying to outpace the soldiers that were looking for the lost princess everywhere. Having lost much of his gear in the fall, Geralt was in desperate need of coin, and had been forced to slow in order to take a few odd jobs along the way. When Geralt mentioned this last bit, Cirilla looked down with a frown. It was obvious what she thought about monster hunting. 

Once they left, they didn’t have to walk much further before Geralt led them to a small clearing off the road, where they could make camp. Falling into the familiar rhythm, Jaskier set down his small pack and went to gather what he could for a fire. He had to wonder a fair bit to do so, and when he finally returned to their little clearing, he almost dropped his haul in surprise. Cirilla was brushing down Roach, and Geralt was sitting calm as you please carefully running a wet stone over his sword.

“That girl must be really something, if you’re letting her take over Roach duties.” Jaskier said quietly as he crouched to deposit the firewood. “I’ve seen you bleeding with broken bones and still refuse help when it came to taking care of that horse.” 

Jaskier wasn’t really expecting a response, he had learned early on that Geralt only responded when the mood struck him, but after setting the logs cheerfully ablaze, Geralt replied, “It calms her down. When I first found her, she…was in a rough way. She seemed to like Roach, and well, she’s good with horses.” He said this quietly, and without looking up from the flames, but Jaskier could hear a touch of pride in his voice.

“Well, obviously she must be very good with horses indeed if you’re letting her near Roach. Did she have lessons, I wonder, in Cintra? She must have, I can’t imagine a grandmother like Calanthe ever letting her go without horse riding lessons. I bet she’s a mean strategist and a devil with the blade already as well.” 

“She did stab a man a few miles from Sodden.” Geralt said this so straight-faced, Jaskier couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. It was hard to tell with the man, he had a strange sense of humor. 

As the evening closed in, Jaskier leaned back against a log and played a few quiet songs on his lute. He wasn’t sure at first, but he played a few Cintran ballads, and eventually Cirilla seemed to loosen up and she relaxed from where she had been pressed against Geralt’s side. Jaskier learned that she preferred to be called Ciri and that she did indeed have horse riding lessons in Cintra, though no sword lessons yet. Not at least until she was older, had been what her Grandmother had said. 

Jaskier had mostly kept the conversation light, and one sided, but as the night dragged on and Ciri eventually succumbed to sleep, he couldn’t help but task the question which had been nagging him ever since they met.

“So, not to push my luck or anything, you know I love traveling with you, But I was a little curious, you see, just because it is very unlike you to agree with me so quickly, but why, exactly, did you say yes?”

A long silence with nothing but the crackling fire and the rustling of the forest. 

“Well, are you going to answer me or just grunt in my general direction?”

Finally, Geralt muttered a response, “You’re human.”

“I, well yes. That is a true statement, very clever of you to finally deduce that. Pray tell, what does that have to do with anything?”

“So is Ciri, and well, she’s strong but she’s been through a lot and there are things which I don’t…..There are things that a human needs that a Witcher doesn’t.”

He shrugged, as if this was an obvious thing and didn’t need any further explanation. 

Jaskier, who was perhaps the only soul on the continent who knew this was utter horse shit, puffed up his chest indignantly. “Are you telling me that you let me come along as a nurse maid to your child surprise? All this time, twenty years of friendship, and you just assume that I’ll jump in as a nanny? Geralt, even for you, that is a whole new level of being clueless.” 

The child surprise in question was luckily still fast asleep, and hardly stirred as Jaskier’s voice rose slightly in volume. 

“Here I was thinking that you had finally gotten it through your head that I can take care of myself and that I am a valuable traveling companion and your only, dearest friend and now I learn that you’re just too emotionally constipated to properly take care of your own daughter? What, did you want me to hold your hand? Write you a how-to manual?”

Truth be told, Jaskier was perhaps overreacting a little. A small part of him knew how hard it was for the Witcher to ever ask for help, and for him to admit that he perhaps needed help taking care of a twelve year human child was perhaps less of an insult and more of a sign of trust, but there was too much still unspoken between them for Jaskier to be anything but annoyed. 

When he had seen Geralt in the tavern, some idealistic and naive part of him had hoped that they might simply pick up where they had left off. That the past few months where Geralt’s last harsh words were a constant loop in Jaskier’s mind could simply be swept under the rug. There were more important things to think of, anyways. 

Of course, Jaskier should have known better. He was not the hopeful nineteen year old he had been when they first met. He was almost forty now, and had enough emotional maturity to know that the hurt between them would have to be addressed. The question was, did Geralt realize that? 

“She’s not… Ciri is my responsibility, that doesn’t mean she is my daughter.” Geralt sounded almost as offended as if Jaskier had suggested he eat his own mother. “I don’t need hand holding, I only thought…..” Geralt frowned and he looked away, turning his face so Jaskier could only see a slim portion of his profile. “My first priority is getting Ciri to safety, but I care about your safety as well. The roads are dangerous right now, and it’s safer together.” And then, as if he hadn’t just said something so earth shattering, Geralt resumed poking the fire with a stick.

It took a while for Jaskier to collect his words. Something which never happened to him.

Finally, “That wasn’t what you said on the mountain.”

“Hmm, I know” 

“At some point, I’m going to make you talk about that. It hurt me, what you said.”

“hmm.”

Jaskier waited, but nothing more was forthcoming and eventually he curled up on his bedroll and went to sleep. 

*********

At some point in the night, Jaskier became aware of eyes on him in the dark, and woke up. The fire was down to a few smoldering embers, but they cast enough light that when he turned his head, he could see the glowing reflection of Geralt’s eyes. 

The Witcher watched him for what felt like a very long time, but could also have just been seconds. HIs gaze was heavy and Jaskier shivered as if it had a physical weight. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were soft, but rough from sleep and from a weight of sincerity that had always floored the bard. Geralt, for all his emotional shortcomings, could be so incredibly sincere when it counted, that it was like a blow to the chest sometimes. Anyone who thought that Witchers had no emotions could die and go straight to hell, as far as Jaskier was concerned.   
Though there were any number of things which Jaskier could have said to that, for once he took a page out of Geralt’s book, “Hmmm” Was the only response he gave. 

“What I said….It wasn’t true. It wasn’t your fault.”

Illogically, and against all reason, Jaskier wanted to be mad. He wanted to stand up and yell at Geralt until he felt every ounce of frustration and pain that was blazing inside Jaskier at that moment. It was just like the Witcher, to be so taciturn and so gruff until he wasn’t. And then he had to apologize so simply, as if Jaskier hadn’t spent months heart broken and wondering if he was ever going to see Geralt again. As mad as he had been at the man, seeing him again in the tavern had been like a gift from the gods, and he had somehow desperately wanted to keep it before he ruined his last chance. Was he pathetic? Maybe. Was he desperate? Yes. He had spent every year since he was nineteen so madly in love with this infuriating Witcher that he thought a little desperation was called for. 

“I know. You were so angry. And hurt. Like a wounded animal lashing out, biting the hand that feeds.”

Geralt huffed a dry sound that might have been a laugh, and might have been annoyed. “I wasn’t… I was wrong. And I am sorry.”

“You know these things don’t just disappear, right?” Jaskier held up a hand, stoping Geralt before his frown could turn into something more, “That kind of hurt, you blamed me for everything, and all because you got into a fight with Yennefer and needed someone to take it out on. I accept your apology, you know I do. But these things don’t disappear.” 

Geralt didn’t say anything, but in the dim light Jaskier thought he could see a look of pain pass through his eyes. He thought he should let it rest, and turn over to get what little sleep he still could, there was a bitter taste in his mouth, like jealousy, but also a little like regret. Instead he found himself digging the blade in deeper. 

“How is Yennefer, anyways? Have you seen her since?” This time he didn’t need to see to know the pained look that was sure to be in Geralt’s eyes. It was clear in the way he inhaled, sharp and brief, before shifting so that his eyes no longer reflected back the light of the fire. Gazing up at the sky, most likely. 

“She was at Sodden. I couldn’t find her afterwards.” If the word small had any business being used in conjunction with Geralt, Jaskier would have used it then to describe the sound of his voice. “I don’t think…She’s not dead. But she wasn’t anywhere close to the battlefield, and no one knew where she had went.”

An odd pain formed in Jaskier’s chest. He had no love for Yennefer, but he knew what she meant to the Witcher. And he loved Geralt. “I’m sorry. I’m sure if she can’t be found, well, Yennefer is powerful mage. She can take care of herself.” Even as he said them, the words sounded trite.

“I looked for her, but Ciri was in danger that close to Nilfgaard. We had to leave. We had to.”

“I know.”


	3. Blackbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I finally took a closer look at the map and realized they still had to cross the Pontar- oops!
> 
> And to clear things up, I am taking a lot from the books at this point in which case Sodden Hill is only a minor victory and Nilfgaard is still very much on the advance. Geralt is assuming at this point it is only a question of when, not if, they cross the Yaruga.

After eight days of traveling with Jaskier, Geralt was still no closer to understanding the man.

After the disastrous dragon hunt, and after the weight of his words had finally sunk in, he had assumed that should he ever perchance to see Jaskier again, he would be very lucky if the worst thing the bard did was walk away from him on sight. The far more likely scenario would be that he would get an awful earful about what a heartless Witcher he was and all about how he had finally lived up to every awful rumor that circulated about his kind. What he had not expected was for the man to want to accompany him. 

He had been somewhat startled to find how quickly he said yes, but it had seemed like his last chance to grab a rope tossed to a drowning man. This would be an opportunity, perhaps, to at least make up for some of the damage he had caused. As war loomed closer, no roads were safe, and if he could at least protect the bard one more time, perhaps he could absolve some of his guilt. 

As they left the tavern, he quickly realized that this was also a boon for Ciri. He had been worried, in a way that sat strange and foreign in his chest and low in his belly, a gnawing sort of concern that hadn’t really left him since he had found her two weeks ago. He knew he could keep her safe from most physical dangers. Even low on gear and potions as he was, he was confident in his ability to keep her from physical harm. But there were so many other ways that a human child could get hurt. Dangers and threats which before had seemed insignificant to him all of a sudden loomed large. And even worse were the things that he could only conceive of as a vague suspicion that something important might be lacking. Something which every human parent knew instinctively to provide their children with, but something which he, as a Witcher, would be unable to fathom. 

Jaskier came as a solution to that worry. Though Geralt had never thought of him in the capacity of a care giver to a child, he knew that Jaskier came from noble stock, and so had to have had a childhood at least somewhat similar to Ciri’s, or at least close enough that he would be able to fill in some of the gaps that Geralt was convinced he was leaving. 

As they settled down for camp that first night, he kept expecting the mood to change. He hunched his shoulders instinctively as he waited for the blow to land, either verbal or physical. But Jaskier’s chirpy mood never seemed to flag. Though even Geralt wasn’t so blind as to not see a new tension around Jaskier that seemed to dull some of his energy, or the curious and somewhat sorrowful glances that he kept giving Ciri. But still Jaskier kept his company civil and friendly, and to the untrained eye would seem as cheerful and bright as ever, giving hardly any sense that something might be wrong between the two of them. 

The feeling of uncertainty, however, of waiting for the other shoe to drop, wouldn’t go away. It kept Geralt on edge the whole evening, only lightening somewhat when Jaskier’s playing was finally able to break Ciri out of her shell enough that she started talking with him. Seeing her relax made something unidentifiable within him subside, so that he felt like he could breath for the first time all day. 

Ciri was not by nature a shy person. Geralt didn’t know how but he knew her on a level that was far deeper and more instinctive than anything else he had ever felt. Two weeks of traveling together had been enough for him to learn to read her moods and thoughts by the smallest changes of expression. The tightening of her shoulders told him if she was anxious and the spark in her eyes told him if she was feeling fierce. He could sense the strong line of courage that ran through everything that she did, from her wild tales to the sullen silence she adopted when in public. But he also knew that her recent experiences had taught her to mistrust everyone on principle, and that it would take her some time to open up around Jaskier the same way she had around him. 

Once the fire was banked and everyone laid down in their bedrolls, Geralt laid awake for a long time. As the weather had been getting colder the further north they went, Ciri had been sleeping closer to him, and on very cold nights they shared blankets to preserve heat. But the last few days had seen a rare heat wave, and the night was mild enough that the three of them were spread comfortably around the fire. 

After a while of staring aimlessly into the forest, Geralt turned around and looked at Jaskier where he lay sleeping not even four feet away. It was somehow strange to have the bard back in his company. Though he had eventually become one of the few people that Geralt spent enough time with to become truly accustomed to his company, enough that his presence had become a comfort rather than a source of anxiety, after the mountain there was an odd wight to his presence that wouldn’t let him rest. 

Geralt didn’t know how long he laid there watching the bard, he certainly didn’t think about the way he had began to trace the gentle gold of the dying embers across his cheek, or the slight huffing noises that the bard couldn’t help make even in sleep, but eventually something alerted Jaskier to his attention and he began to wake. 

The darkness and the sleep softened weight of Jaskier’s eyes loosened something in his throat. “I’m sorry.” The words came out almost unbidden, but once he said them he knew they were true. If there was anything he knew it was that he was sorry for the way he had hurt the bard after he had sworn that nothing would ever happen to the strange creature that refused to leave him alone. 

Geralt wasn’t sure what kind of response he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t the monotone ,“Hmmm” that he got. He wondered if he should be angry at the blatant plagiarism. 

Nevertheless, he tried to find the word he needed to make this right, “What I said….It wasn’t true. It wasn’t your fault.”

A myriad of strange expressions passed over Jaskier’s face, too complex for Geralt to read. “I know. You were so angry. And hurt. Like a wounded animal lashing out, biting the hand that feeds.”

Geralt frowned, annoyed. He hated when Jaskier did that. When he looked right through him and somehow made him feel known, as if he were someone who could be understood, as if they were friends. “I wasn’t… I was wrong. And I am sorry.”

“You know these things don’t just disappear, right?” Jaskier continued, “That kind of hurt, you blamed me for everything, and all because you got into a fight with Yennefer and needed someone to take it out on. I accept your apology, you know I do. But these things don’t disappear.” 

Geralt found that, as usual, there was nothing that he could say. The words stuck in his throat, and a sudden pain blossomed behind his chest. The causal mention of Yennefer cracked the careful lid he had been keeping on the mess that had been swirling around his head since he had passed through Sodden. He hated these kinds of talks. 

A strange look twisted Jaskier’s normally charming features, “How is Yennefer, anyways? Have you seen her since?” There was an undertone of something bitter in his voice, all the complicated ties between Geralt and Yennefer, and between Yennefer and Jaskier simmering below the surface.

For a second it felt like someone had driven a knife between his ribs, a feeling which Geralt was sadly actually familiar with. He turned his face to the sky and starred blankly at the stars while he forced his tumultuous feelings into submission, tucking them away until he could clear his head enough to talk. Until the image of burning fields and ash as thick as snow was as harmless as a painting. 

“She was at Sodden. I couldn’t find her afterwards. I don’t think…She’s not dead. But she wasn’t anywhere close to the battlefield, and no one knew where she had went.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sure if she can’t be found, well, Yennefer is a powerful mage. She can take care of herself.”

The worst thing, Geralt thought, was that Jaskier’s words were sincere. “I looked for her, but Ciri was in danger that close to Nilfgaard. We had to leave. We had to.” 

“I know.” Jaskier’s voice was impossibly soft. It still felt like damnation. 

Eight days later, and Geralt was still no clearer on where he stood with Jaskier. All he knew was that he could keep Ciri safe at Kaer Morhen, and if Jaskier was willing, he would keep him safe there as well. He focused all of his energy on that task, so that every confusing thought and painful twist of feeling in his chest could be put to the side, and examined after he was safe behind walls of stone and high in the Blue Mountains. 

They had made good time, despite only having the one horse. And Geralt estimated that, should nothing else go wrong, they would make it to the foothills in the next two weeks. Of course, everything did go wrong.

They were traveling through a stretch of wilderness, a patch of forested land before the town of Flotsam, where they could cross the Pontar. From there they would cross into Kaedwen and be well on their way. They were a good days ride away from the river when Geralt first sensed that something was wrong. 

The background noise of birds, insects, and every manner of forest creature suddenly stilled and held its breath. Geralt lifted his head and scented the air, drawing in a deep lungful of air while he focused his hearing to catch any warning sounds. Ciri and Jaskier were walking a few steps behind him, and he stopped to let them catch up. Jaskier was in the middle of telling some tale or other, but he stopped mid sentence when he saw Geralt’s watchful posture. Ciri just looked at him with solemn eyes. 

“Ciri, get on the horse. Jaskier, you too. If something happens, keep riding north. Head for Flotsam. “

Jaskier opened his mouth, “Geralt, what…”

“Do as I say!” Geralt’s tone of voice left no room for argument. 

Ciri clambered onto Roach without a word while Jaskier swung up behind her. For a few moments they sat still while the horse shifted uncertainly. Geralt felt a line of tension quiver over his shoulders before he shook it off and settled int a ready stance. For the longest minute, nothing seemed to happen. 

Then a creature exploded from behind a rocky hill, so fast it looked like nothing but a blur of feathers and claws. Jaskier felt a scream build in his throat and get stuck as Roach surged forward and took off at speed. His last glimpse of Geralt was the Witcher slipping one of his swords from his back, Jaskier couldn’t tell which, and bracing for impact.


	4. O Little Birds (You Make A Mess of the Sky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt fights the griffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a little action. I promise the plot will pick up after this

The Griffin exploded out of nowhere. The creatures were dangerous for a multitude of reasons, but one of them was their ability to be surprisingly stealthy for their size. Geralt had time to slap Roach on the hunches and send Jaskier and Ciri, hopefully, galloping towards safety, before drawing his steel sword. As he did, he shouted and formed a brief Igni towards the charging griffin, it wouldn’t hurt the griffin, but it would keep the creature focused on him while the others escaped. 

The griffin shrieked and descended from above. The fight was on. 

The creature was visibly thin and most likely starving, but that only made it that much more vicious. Geralt had had no time to take one of his potions, and he doubted that he even had the right ones right now, as depleted as his stores were. But the added speed of Blizzard or the endurance of Tawny Owl would have been very welcome right then. Even a Petri’s Philter would have been nice. As it was, Geralt immediately found himself pressed just to survive the arcing swipes of the griffin’s claws and the fierce jabs of its shining beak. The creature was incredibly fast and strong, and it used its massive wings to stir up dust and block the Witcher from landing a critical blow. 

Normally, Geralt would have retreated in a situation like this. Used brain over brawn and either lured the griffin into a trap or found another way to wear it down before going in for the kill. But he couldn’t take the chance that it would go after Ciri and Jaskier instead. So he moved in fast and precise bursts, dodging wings and claws alike, meeting the griffin blow for blow. 

Even as he managed to land a searing cut along the monster’s flank, he felt its beak rip into his shoulder. He ignored the pain and danced out of the way. Turning in a pirouette to deliver a lunge at its hind legs. The griffin roared and turned around, its spine bending in a perfect half circle to do so, and once again snapped at the Witcher. This time Geralt was able to duck under the beak however, and cut into the creature’s chest with two swift blows. 

It shrieked in pain and rage, and with a heave of its wings leapt into the sky. Unfortunately, Geralt was standing too close and was unable to get out of the way of the wings in time. One of them slammed into his side with the force of a sledge hammer, knocking him backwards and sending a lightening bolt of pain through his chest. Most likely a rib. 

For a moment, the griffin circled above while they Witcher lay winded on the ground. But Geralt saw the moment it decided to attack, and as the griffin folded its wings to dive, he readied himself and sent another blast of Igni, this time much lager, right into the griffin’s face. He only barely managed to roll out of the way in time as the griffin landed right where he had lain and began screaming in furry, shaking its massive head side to side as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. 

Despite his protesting ribs and the burning fire in his shoulder, Geralt used the moment of distraction to attack. He turned on his foot and used the momentum to slice clean through the tip of one wing and then followed through with a lunge that let him pierce the creature’s side, right between the second and third rib and into the lung. 

His lunge, however, pushed his sword perhaps a little too deep, for as he was pulling it free, the griffin twisted in on itself and slashed him with its claws. He was able to form the sing of Quen, but not fast enough to block the very tips of the claws from slashing him across his left leg. He yanked his sword free and before the pain of the new injury could even register, slashed it across the griffin’s face. It’s eyes were nothing but smoking holes from his Igni blast, and the slash cut off most of its nose. 

The griffin recoiled, and in that moment Geralt leapt forward and cut low, twisting with his hip and shoulder so that his blade made a downward arc, cutting deep into the monster’s throat. It staggered and its front legs collapsed, making it easy to flip the sword with his left hand into a backward grip and plunge it down hard through one of its eye sockets, piercing the brain. There was a moment of stillness, and then the griffin trembled and fell to its side, dead. 

Geralt stood trembling between the creature’s front paws. Adrenaline still coursed through his body and refused to believe that the fight was over, leaving him tense as he waited for the creature to make one last attempt at killing him. 

It was always the same after every fight. The utter focus that battle required was so complete that when it ended it was like coming out of a dream, no matter how many times Geralt had done this. But as he stood there and nothing happened, he began to feel his injuries. His leg throbbed and he leaned against the creature’s head for a moment. He took deep breaths, ignoring the stench of blood and burned flesh, and tried to control the pain. He needed to check on Ciri and Jaskier, then he could look at his wounds.

The clattering of hoofs made him look up. Jaskier was riding Roach towards him at a fast trot, while Ciri clung on tight. As soon as he was close enough, Jaskier swung down and strode over to Geralt, uncaring as always of the giant monster corpse in front of him. 

“Are you hurt? We saw it hit you with its wings. What am I saying, of course you’re hurt, let me see. You never admit when you’re hurt.” Jaskier reached a hand towards him, but Geralt pushed him aside and walked over to where Ciri was still sitting on top Roach. 

“I thought I told you to ride for Flotsam. If I had failed to kill the griffin, it would be chasing you right now.” A strangling sort of fear had crept up his throat at the sight of the two returning, and even as he wanted to reassure Ciri that everything was alright, he found himself reprimanding her. 

“Jaskier said we had to turn around and help. And I don’t care what you said, I’m not leaving you.”

Geralt ran a hand over his face. “Jaskier should not be listened to in situations like this, he has no sense of self preservation. You could have gotten hurt. If the griffin had decided to go after you instead of me, or if I had failed…”

“But you didn’t and the griffin is dead. You’re just mad that we didn’t do as you said!” Ciri crossed her arms and huffed angrily.

“Ciri…” Geralt tried to reach for her, planning on helping her down Roach, but something pulled painfully in his side and he was forced to lower his arm again. Stupid ribs, hopefully they weren’t broken. 

Jaskier noticed and immediately broke in. “See, Geralt, I knew you were injured. Fighting a griffin like that. I know you don’t usually go after them without planning and potions. I guess we’re lucky you’re not unconscious on the ground. Now tell me, where are you hurt and what do you need?”

As always, Jaskier paid no attention to Geralt’s personal space. Coming up beside him to begin gently poking him, looking for injuries. No one, outside of other Witchers and maybe Yennefer, ever touched him so casually and without thought. As if there should be no reason why they might hesitate to reach out to him, or why other people avoided contact with him like the plague. 

Ciri jumped off of Roach and crowded him as well. Her green eyes big with worry. He pushed aside her reaching hand, but did so gently, trying to show that he wasn’t angry. “Enough! We need to go. You two can play nurse maid when we make camp.”

Limping but trying to hide it, he walked over to Roach who was eyeing the corpse with a distinct look of disapproval, and slowly climbed onto her back. He reached down to pull Ciri up behind him, but found both her and Jaskier giving him an incredulous look.

“We need to go now. That griffin only attacked us because it was starving. That means other creatures could be hungry as well. We need to go.” Geralt hated leaving the corpse in the middle of the road like that, not even harvested for parts. But he was unwilling to risk a moment longer out in the open like this. A starving griffin meant that there were few prey animals around, but it also meant that any number of other creatures that usually fed off of similar animals or followed griffins to scavenge their carrion could also be around and starving. 

Finally, Ciri moved and climbed up behind Geralt. His shoulder and ribs were on fire, and his arm was soaked in blood. His leg throbbed mercilessly. But he ignored that and turned Roach around and into a brisk walk. Jaskier, who was used to trailing behind his horse, picked up a brisk pace and followed. 

They were almost to Flotsam, and Geralt could smell the usual stench of a medium sized town on the wind as it blew off the Pontar, when he finally decided to stop. Still out of sight of the town, Geralt figured it was safe to tend his wounds here, and then they could make it to the ferry in a few hours. He chafed at having to waste time, but he was also loath to risk walking into a human town so obviously wounded and vulnerable. 

Ciri was quiet, but helped to retrieve his medical kit from the saddle bags while Jaskier continued to fret like a mother hen. Unused to having help, Geralt fumbled off his armor and tried futilely to grab the roll of bandages from Jaskier. 

“No, I’m doing this. If I let you do it yourself you’ll just dap a bit of blood off and call it good. That shoulder needs bandaging, and so does your leg. And knowing you, your ribs are probably broken. I hope we have enough to bind them.” Jaskier’s voice was somewhat shrill with worry, but his face was set in a stubborn tilt that Geralt knew well.

“No. Don’t waste bandages. You can bind my ribs but my shoulder and leg are fine. I just need to take some potions.” Helpfully, Ciri deposited his bag in front of him, and he shot her a grateful look. 

“Are you kidding? You have a hole the size of a goose egg taken out of your shoulder, and now that I look closer, those gashes look like they might need stitches. We can get more bandages in town.”

The ‘hole’ in his shoulder was in fact more of a large chunk, and Geralt considered the gashes in his leg as mere scrapes. It had only been the tip of the griffin’s claws after all. As for the bandages, he was almost out of coin and had been hoping to use it on food for Ciri, not something as non essential as bandages. He debated telling this to Jaskier, decided the insuring argument would take too much effort, and reached for his potions instead.

They were sadly depleted. He had left only a small selection with Roach, and had taken the rest with him into Cintra. It seems who ever had left his swords and armor outside his cell, had considered his potions too dangerous and had thrown them out. Or maybe Mousesack had taken them to be studied later. Either way he was down to a few Swallows, two Golden Orioles, and three doses of Night-blood. He would have liked a dose of Kiss, but he would work with what he had. He took a Swallow and promised himself to properly restock the second they got to Kaer Morhen.


	5. Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens. somewhat. Dijkstra showed up uninvited and Jaskier can't keep it in his pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that Flotsam is on the other side of the pontar but was too lazy to fix it. So in this version flotsam is on the southern bank of the pontar. Canon what canon?

Sigismund Dijkstra fixed his prestigious scowl on the soldier in front of him. The Redanian spymaster was not having a good day.

The trouble started a little over two weeks ago with the fall of Cintra and had only gotten worse. Nilfgaard was a looming disaster just waiting to happen, and the Battle of Sodden Hill had only managed to delay the inevitable. Sooner or later, those black armored bastards would be at Redania’s borders and right now only a fool would bet on King Vizimir. Dijkstra was not a fool.

The soldier quivered before him and if it weren’t for the fact that he most certainly had the information that Dijkstra wanted, he would have thrown him to the gallows hours ago. As it stood, there were a few more details that he needed to get out of him first.

“Yes, well, where were we? That’s right, the girl. You said you saw an ashen haired girl in the town. Tell me, what was she doing? Who was she with? And don’t spare the details. Every word brings you further away from death.” Dijkstra said in his usual disarming manner. “Tell me everything.”

* * *

After bandaging Geralt’s ribs, which were not broken but only badly cracked, and resting for a healthy two hours and then arguing for another hour about what was considered a healthy resting time, the trio set out towards Flotsam.

The narrow trail they had been following met up with a broader, well worn road, and within another hour and half they were within the town walls.

Flotsam was the kind of place that only existed to facilitate movement to somewhere else. Goods from Mahakam and Ard Carraigh met at Flotsam and were floated down the Pontar towards Oxenfurt and Velen. Travelers from four kingdoms met in its taverns, and invested in a fair amount of liquor and pleasurable company, before finding their way across various borders. But for all this movement, no one really wanted to stay in Flotsam, so it existed as a strange crossroads and never really settled into the normal patterns of village life.

At first, Geralt hoped to use this to their advantage. Though he supposed he should hesitate to bring a child, and a princess no less, into a place with a reputation as disreputable as Flotsam, the border town remained the only logical place to cross the Pontar, and all that movement would help to disguise just three more travelers amongst many. By himself, he had come this way more times than he could count, as it was the shortest route to Kaer Morhen if you were were anywhere between Brokilon and the Mahakam Mountains. The town had a reputation, yes, but it was a good place to restock and the ferry here was reliable.

Ciri, disguised as a boy with her hair hidden under her cap, stuck close to his side, but even after all that she had been through she couldn’t hide the way she gazed, wide eyed, at all of the commotion. Humans, and quite a few dwarves, scurried to and fro or argued over prices and the quality of their goods. Though it had nothing on the trading cities of the coast, Flotsam managed a fair amount of noise and traffic for such a small town.

Jaskier, of course, was in his element. He smiled, waved, and chatted with anyone who made the mistake of pausing for more than a second within his vicinity. When Geralt stopped to buy feed for Roach, he played a little tune on his lute to a bunch of dirty children, who afterwards run laughing and shrieking about the funny little man in the bright jacket. Jaskier yelled after their retreating backs that he was not a ‘little man’ and that his jacket was a perfectly subdued shade of teal, thank you very much, but when Ciri looked shocked, he turned a jovial smile on her and waved it all away.

For his part, Geralt kept his head down and tried to look as non threatening as possible. Flotsam was busy enough that most people were too occupied to do much more than glance at his two swords warily, but you also never knew when someone might take a sideways look or a sudden movement as an excuse to start a fight. He was just about to suggest that they find some supplies for Ciri and then move on to the ferry when a commotion toward the southern gate caught his attention.

All of a sudden, the mass of people picked a direction and started to move away, pressing the trio closer to the feed stall in the process. They were moving out of the way of a troop of Temerian soldiers, who came swaggering into the town square, their weapons glinting and their pendants snapping smartly in the breeze. They were infantry, being gathered no doubt, by King Vizimir to prepare for the Nilfgaardian invasion.

It was obvious from the state of their armor and the arrogant tilt to their heads that they had only recently been mustered and had yet to see any fighting.

Unthinkingly, Geralt reached down and grabbed Ciri’s shoulder, drawing her in protectively against his side. Soldiers, young and bursting with energy, were always trouble. In a town like Flotsam, it was only a question of time before something happened. He considered briefly and then turned to Jaskier, who was equally concerned. “I want you and Ciri and Roach to head for the ferry. I need to buy a few more things but I want you two out of the way and ready to leave.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea? To split up?” Jaskier said, glancing nervously at the soldiers who were now breaking up and loudly wondering off to find drink and food. “It might be wiser to stick together.”

“Maybe, but I draw more attention than a man with his son. If anybody asks, just say your Redanians and are returning home before the fighting breaks out in Temeria. Hopefully no one should bother you.” Geralt replied.

“I am Redanian.” Jaskier said.

“I know. So it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to remember.”

Jaskier huffed, but conceded Geralt’s point.

Ciri turned to look up at Geralt. She was nervous about the soldiers, Geralt could tell by the tight set of her shoulders, but her face was stoic and brave. Geralt wished, desperately, that this could all be over and that she would never have to wear such a face again. His own childhood had been far from the human norm, but he knew enoughto know that twelve year old girls should not have such a world weary look in their eyes.

“I promise I’ll catch up with you soon. Keep an eye on Jaskier, make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.” Geralt said.

“I thought that was your job. Aren’t you supposed to keep us both safe?” Ciri asked, her brave face had turned accusing.

“I am keeping you safe. We need supplies if we’re gonna make good time to the mountains. You’ll be safer with Jaskier, soldiers won’t pay any attention to just another father and son heading home.” Geralt tried to make his voice reassuring, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was.

She opened her mouth to protest further, but Jaskier stepped in and said, “For once, I agree with Geralt. The poor man has an awful habit of attracting the wrong kind of attention when there are soldiers present. Its best we find a place out of the way to wait and get out of here soon as possible.” Jaskier said.

“Hm.” Geralt responded. He wanted to take offense at Jaskier’s assessment, but sadly it was the truth.

He nodded at Jaskier, bowed his head in silent apology to Ciri, and turned to finish his errands.

He made it as far as the the smokehouse, five stalls over, when a commotion erupted.

* * *

Jaskier was still torn about splitting up, but he figured it was best to keep a low profile and arguing with Geralt in the middle of the street was not inconspicuous by any standards. So he grabbed Roach’s reins and led Ciri towards the northern gate where the ferry was situated just outside the town walls. He didn’t make it further than twenty paces when someone stopped unceremoniously in his face.

A man, roughly the size of a small giant and as rough as granite, glared down at Jaskier and said, his voice thick with phlegm, “I know you! You little bastard! You stole my wife.”

_Well, so much for keeping a low profile_. Jaskier thought.

“Good Sir, I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. I am quite certain I would remember a gentlemen like yourself and I certainly never would have made the mistake of stealing your wife, who I am sure is as faithful and steadfast as the rising sun. Anyways, we really must be going, if you would be so kind as to step out of the way?” Jaskier went for his sunniest smile and prayed to all the gods he didn’t believe in that the man would acquiesce.

The truth of the matter was that Jaskier really didn’t recognize the man, but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t actually slept with his wife. Or ‘stolen’ her as the man claimed. He had slept with plenty of people who had been taking advantage of an absent spouse in order to find some renewed pleasure in bed. Jaskier was happy to comply. He loved the idea that he could bring a little joy and pleasure into people’s lives, and if the potential angry spouse was absent, it just made it easier.

Besides him, Ciri was clearly regretting agreeing to go with him instead of Geralt. Roach stomped her hoof in agitation. This was not going well.

“A misunderstanding you say?You little shit! I’m gonna grind you so fine into the dust your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.” The man, who was looking angry enough to set wet kindling on fire, took a threatening step towards Jaskier. Jaskier held his hands up and prepared to uselessly plead for clemency, but multiple things happened at once that got in the way of that.

Roach, who was a mean tempered animal at the best of times and was even worse whenever she was separated from Geralt, jerked the reins out of Jaskier’s hands and reared onto her hind legs, forcing the man to stagger back. Jaskier swore and looked around desperately for Geralt. Instead he found several soldiers, led by what appeared to be the company’s captain, heading towards them with stormy expressions.

Roach, surprisingly enough, had let herself be captured by Ciri, but not before she had scattered several people and caused quite a ruckus. Women screamed and men began shouting about the feral horse in their midsts. The soldiers reached them and the captain drew his sword. Unlike his subordinates, he had the look of experience about him, and was clearly no novice to battle.

“What's all this ruckus? What’s going on? Speak up and be quick. Why is this horse terrorizing citizens?” The captain demanded.

Jaskier opened his mouth to explain, but for once someone else was faster. The man with the stolen wife had recovered from Roach’s attack and leapt to the captain’s side.

“This man is a menace. Sir! He set his demon horse on me for no reason!”

“No reason? You accused me and threatened me. Roach was protecting me, you ass.”

“Slander. The attack was entirely unprovoked!”

The captain held up a hand and addressed the man. “Very well, thank you.” He turned to Jaskier. “You, please come with me. And someone take that damn horse away and put it down.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, meaning to yell loud enough to alert Geralt that someone was about to take his beloved Roach, when once again someone beat him to the punch.

A group of soldiers immediately leapt to obey the captain’s commands, and swiftly surrounded Roach, who was still being held in place by Ciri. The soldiers crowded in and roughly reached to move the girl out of the way. Ciri flinched back against the mare’s flank and opened her mouth and screamed.

The soldiers were knocked back and flew into the gathered crowed as if hit by an invisible force. Jaskier, the captain, and the belligerent man were knocked off their feet and landed in the dirt. The crowd staggered back and erupted into renewed screams and shouts. Only Ciri, and Roach pressed firmly against her side, remained standing.


	6. A Flight of Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, Ciri, and Jaskier make their get away.

Geralt hears a commotion from the crowd and when he turns to look, can just make out Roach tossing her head and rearing up over the sea of people. He swears viciously, under his breath, and makes his way over.

Or at least, he tries to. Usually he has no problem pushing through a crowd. People prefer to give Witchers a large clearance after all. But now their attention is focused elsewhere, and no one seems to notice the monster hunter trying to push his way through their midsts.

Geralt hears the agitated voice of Jaskier, and some man who sounds congested, and renews his effort. But the crowd seems to surge towards whatever is happening, pulling in as if it were an attraction at a carnival, and an almost impenetrable wall of people forms between him and his destination.

Over the shrieking of the crowd, Geralt hears someone give the order to take Roach, and he sees red. He pulls out his sword and uses a light blast of Aard to clear a path. People stumble out of the way and he takes a step to wade further when an all too familiar sounding scream rents the air and a wave of magic knocks everyone back.

Geralt was still several feet away from the source of the blast, and had several people between him and Ciri, but the crowd of humans topple like dominoes, and he finds himself struggling to untangle himself from a mess of limbs and confused squirming.

When he finally manages to get to his feet, Jaskier, Ciri, and Roach are surrounded by a ring of soldiers. Ciri’s cap has blown off and her ashen hair hangs down in a tangled mess down her back.

An older man, wearing the uniform of a Temerian captain, struggles up from the ground and turns to glare at his captives. Behind him, more soldiers are still groaning on the ground. “Seize her!” His voice is high pitched with nerves. “Seize her at once. I will not tolerate sorcery here!”

Helplessly, Jaskier raises his hands. Ciri reaches for her dagger. The soldiers take a threatening step forward.

“Don’t.” Geralt pitches his voice loud and sharp, like a whip. He places his blade against the throat of the captain. “One more step and I’ll leave you all in pieces.”

Since Blaviken, he has never, never made any kind of gesture that would even hint at threatening to slaughter humans. He has closed his eyes and deafened his ears to more threats and insults and abuse than he cares to admit in order to convince people that he is not that butcher. Now though, he doesn’t give a fuck. If they touch Ciri, he will burn this town down to ash.

The captain, for his part, seems to take the threat seriously. He freezes at the touch of the blade and tries to turn his head to look over his shoulder at his attacker. The soldiers stand indecisively, torn between following orders, protecting their captain, and the animal like instinct telling them that this white haired man before them posses a very real threat. 

Geralt smiles. His smile, he has been reliably informed, can be particularly nasty. His lips curl back and reveal teeth just a little too sharp to be human. His pupils are narrowed into vertical slits, and a growl rumbles deep in his chest.

The captain whimpers and almost collapses on the spot. The sour scent of fear drowns out the smells of the market. The crowd, that was shrieking and heaving mere seconds ago, stills into a shocked kind of hush.

Jaskier takes a tentative step forward and uses his most reasonable voice, the amicable bard an effective counterpart to the terrifying Witcher. “Come now, gentlemen, surely we can all just step away from this before it escalates. My companions and I will be on our way and you will never have to see us again.” He takes another step forward, “Please.”

The soldiers loosen their grip on their swords. They share confused and nervous glances but begin to back away. But their insubordination is enough to snap the captain out of his stupor.

“Cowards!” He squeaks. “I said seize them!”

The soldiers once more lift their swords and Geralt swears under his breath as he moves to stop them.

With his first step he draws his sword across the captains neck and kills him. Five more steps and he is behind the first soldier, who doesn’t even have time to turn before the Witcher’s blade severs his spine. The next two manage to flinch backwards but can hardly raise their own blades before they are similarly cut down.

Ciri takes advantage of the distraction and leaps forward to slash at the nearest soldier with her dagger. He howls and stumbles back. Thankfully, Jaskeir is still thinking clearly. He grabs Ciri and forces her onto Roach’s back before springing up onto the saddle himself. “Geralt! Reinforcements! They’re coming.”

It was true. The remaining seven soldiers had gotten their wits about them and were formed up in a solid line facing the Witcher. And from behind Geralt came the sound of more soldiers spilling out of taverns and brothels and out onto the street to defend their comrades. Time was running out.

“Jaskier! Head for the ferry!” Geralt shouted. It was a desperate gamble but it would have to work.

“What?!”

“Go!” With that word, Geralt leapt forward and pressed into the line of soldiers. He parried the first attack with his sword and twisted his shoulder, untwisting in order to form a slash that cut across the man’s face. He continued the turn, spinning in place, and used his momentum to plunge his sword into the man to his right.

The soldier to his left cut diagonally at his face, but his attack was wild with fear, and Geralt barely had to duck out of the way. As he came up from his slight crouch, he brought his sword up as well and cut the man between the legs. He fell howling into his comrades.

There was no time to kill the rest. Roach was already turning to run out the gate and Geralt rushed to follow her. As he passed a stall selling woven baskets, he tore it down in passing and sent the wares spilling into the street behind him. The crowd came alive at that and starting yelling insults, but they also rushed to get out of his way and that of the charging horse before him, so Geralt let it pass.

For once, luck seemed to favor them, for as Roach began to out distance him and the soldiers were threatening to catch up, Geralt passed a tavern where someone had just moments ago left a fully saddled horse with its reins wrapped loosely around the hitching post. No doubt the owner was enjoying a drink inside. Geralt hardly slowed as he ripped the reins loose and swung himself into the saddle. The buckskin stallion seemed eager to run, and leapt forward at once. In no time they were abreast with Roach and heading through the northern gate.

Behind them the shouts of the soldiers continued in pursuit. But in front of them was the ferry. By some miracle it was docked on this side of the river.

People waiting to board and merchants unloading their goods leapt out of the way of the two charging horses with startled cries.

“To the ferry! Jaskier. Get on the ferry!” Geralt yelled over all the noise, and thanked whatever lucky stars he had that he had taken the time to teach Jaskier how to properly ride a horse.

They clattered over the dock and jumped onto the ferry, which rocked alarmingly under the wight of two horse but held. The helmsman stood gaping up at them.

“Quick. Move the ferry. Quick, like your life depends on it.” Jaskier yelled frantically at the shocked man

“Now!” Geralt growled, which seem to snap the man into action because he began heaving at the ropes, steadily pulling them away from bank.

But not fast enough.

“Jaskier, Help him. Ciri, steady the horses. And stay down.” His companion leapt to obey, and Geralt turned to face their pursuers.

The soldiers had made it to the bank. Before they could get any further, Geralt sent a quick blast of Aard, aimed at the dock, turning the ancient planks into kindling. The soldiers recoiled at the brief show of magic, but someone competent had take charge and they quickly recovered. They began lining up with bows ready to fire.

Geralt tried to deflect the first few, but his injured ribs all of a sudden made themselves known and he was too slow to stop an arrow that whistled past and embedded itself in the buckskin’s flank. The horse screamed and began to stomp, but Ciri grabbed his reins and held him still. Geralt could smell salt water, but Ciri never made a sound even as the sight of the wounded horse clearly pained her.

The soldiers on the bank were drawing back for another volley, this one much more organized than the last, and Geralt knew he could never hope to deflect that many arrows. So he steadied his breathing, focused, and cast Quen.

Signs were not his forte. Eskel had always rubbed it in his face that he took to everything else in their Witcher training like a fish to water but struggled with the signs like a pig trying to fly. So when he cast the protective shield not only over himself but over the entire ferry as well, his hand trembled with the effort. But the shield held, and the volley of arrows bounced harmlessly into the river.

Luckily, the Pontar was very wide, wide enough that once they reached the middle of the river, the small bows of the infantry were out of range. Geralt only had to deflect two more volleys before they were too far away to be in danger.

His side heaving with the effort, and his ribs protesting every step, he turned to examine the injured horse.

* * *

Back in the town, two figures split from the crowd and vanish.

The first was a small, middle aged man. The only way to properly describe him was bland. Everything about him, from his features, to his clothes, to his manner of speaking, was so unassuming as to be boring. There was nothing about him that drew the eye, and he passed from his spot by the tavern wall without anyone being the wiser.

The second figure was a women. Her age and features could not be determined because she was hidden by a deep cowl hood and a long, dark blue cloak. When she stepped out of the overhang of a stall selling bolts of fabric, the eyes of the surrounding people seemed to skitter over her form, almost as if she wasn’t really there. No one remembered her, though her cloak was finer than anything else worn in Flotsam, and she held herself as someone accustomed to authority.

The next day, Sigismund Dijkstra, across the border in Redania, received a sealed missive from an agent in Temeria.

In a secluded country estate, nestled in the Owl Hills, Tissaia de Vries settled herself primly on a chair. In the bed beside her, violet eyes cracked open and focused on her with curiosity.


	7. A Raven Tends its Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer heals after Sodden. And pretends not to worry about Geralt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter very difficult to write for some reason. Sorry its so short

**Two Weeks Ago** :

Yennefer opened her eyes.

She had to take a moment to marvel that she still could. Then she had to take a moment catalogue the state of the rest of her body.

Everything hurt. Her muscles felt like they were still on fire and her skin felt stretched too thin. Her bones felt brittle and like they could snap at any moment. Even her teeth ached, and her head was full of a dull pounding that made it impossible to think of anything else. So she didn’t.

Yennefer closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

The next time she awoke, she was feeling a little less like one massive ache and more like a very bruised human.

The light filtering through a tall window revealed a tastefully decorated but unassuming bedroom. The sheets she was laying on felt clean and cool, and there was a pitcher of water on the table next to her.

She made an effort to sit up, thinking to quench the burning thirst that had just made itself known, but her arms shook and she fell back into her pillows. Apparently she wasn’t that recovered yet.

As far as she could tell, she was alone. She tried to parcel out her disjointed memories to see if she could figure out where she was.

She remembererd preparing to fight. And she remembered seeing her sisters fall.

She also remembered fire. So much fire that it consumed her world until nothing but heat remained. After that, only darkness.

She winced and tried once more to sit up.

Just as she was making some progress, a familiar figure swept into the room.

Tissaia De Vries paused next to her bed and considered Yennefer’s attempts.

“Don’t bother.” She said in her collected manner. “You’re still hurt.” Despite the detached quality in her voice, Tissaia poured water into a simple silver cup and held it to her lips when Yennefer was too weak to do it herself.

Shame burned a bitter taste down her throat, but the relief of the cool water was too tempting.

“How long have I been out?” Yennefer was unsurprised to find her voice rough and painful sounding.

“Two days.” Was Tissaia’s prim reply. “You collapsed after Sodden. I thought it prudent to take you away from there. You are not the most liked at the moment. Even despite your recent heroics.”

“Heroics?”

“Yes. You managed to burn half of the Nilfgaardian forces with your little fire display. It was quite effective. I suppose I should be thanking you. You saved my life, after all.” Tissaia explained.

“You? Thanking me? I must have really out done myself. Pity my memory is so sketchy.” Yennefer said, leaning back against her pillows with a sigh. She really was exhausted.

“As always, you create drama out of nothing. Of course I’d thank you, Yennefer. It’s only in your mind the everyone hates you.” Tissaia didn’t fluff the pillows, or pull the blanket over Yennefer. She was not the type to fuss. But she rested a cool hand against Yennefer’s brow, before moving briskly and efficiently over to a table set against the far wall. Yennefer could see that it was covered in all manner of healing tinctures and salves.

After carefully arranging the already organized supplies, Tissaia began mixing ingredients into some kind of potion.

“You badly damaged your body. Your muscles will be weak for a while before they regain their strength. And I imagine you might find spell casting difficult for the next few days. But I wouldn’t be concerned. You will heal, if only because of your stubbornness.” Tissaia retuned to the bed holding a ceramic cup filled with a gently aromatic liquid. “Here, drink this.” She commanded softly.

“What is it?” Yennefer eyed the offered cup with suspicion. She was annoyed that she could not recognize the tincture by the smell, but then healing magic had never been her strength.

“Don’t give me that look.” Tissaia snapped. “You really think I’d poison you after going through all the trouble of bringing you here? Now drink!” She forced the cup into Yennefer’s hand, who had to to struggle not to spill any.

“Where is here anyway?” She asked, but dutifully drank the medicine.

“An estate in the Owl Hills. It belongs to a friend, but it is rather discrete, so I thought it a good place to bring you. Now rest. You still need to heal.” Tissaia took the empty cup back from Yennefer. The medicine tasted sweet and vaguely of lavender. The last thing she saw before she slipped back into sleep was the form of the rectress sweeping out of the room.

The next time she awoke, Tissaia was already sitting at her side.

Yennefer felt much more alert, and sat up eagerly. Already she was tired of laying down.

This time Tissaia was wearing a dark blue cloak over her immaculate clothes.

“Were you going somewhere?” Yennefer asked.

“Coming back actually.” Tissaia said, picking at an invisible thread on her sleeve. “I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground, so to speak. There is quite a bit of fuss going on out there, and not all of it is about the battle, as you might think.” Tissaia looked at her expectantly.

“Fine, I’ll bite. What are they fussing about out there?” Yennefer snapped.

“A girl.” Tissaia replied. “A princess to be exact. Cirilla of Cintra. It seems that she is quite the prize, judging by all the trouble that Nilfgaard is going through to capture her.”

“Cirilla?”

“Yes. Queen Calanthe’s granddaughter. Perhaps she managed to escape Cintra after all. Did you know her?” Tissaia’s eyes were much too knowing.

“No. I never set foot in Cintra. Why would I know her?”

“No reason. But she interests you, no?”

“of course she interests me! If Nilfgaard wants her half as bad as you say, then she must be a very interesting person.”

Tissaia hummed. “How are you feeling, by the way. If you are feeling up to it, there is food on the table over there. I have matters to attend to.” Tissaia pointed to a table neatly arranged by the window, and stood.

She regarded Yennefer without judgement as she struggled to her feet. At some point, someone had dressed her in a simple white gown because her bloodstained clothes from the battle were gone. She made her way slowly towards the table, but she made it on her own. Tissaia was wise not to offer assistance.

The table was covered with modest fair. Hearty bone broth and good dark bread, but it smelled perfect to Yennefer’s still sensitive stomach. She tried to sit gracefully, but ended up collapsing half way down. She didn’t wait to dig in.

Tissaia nodded in approval and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Yennefer set down her spoon. “Did you hear….Was there anything about someone…a man…Traveling with the girl?” She didn’t look away from her bowl.

“No. Nothing that I’ve heard of would suggest that. Who are you looking for?”

“No one. Go run your errands. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

A few days later, Yennefer was recovered enough to be sitting at the window reading a book.

“I found a rumor.” The rectress said without preamble. “About a certain Witcher. Who was rumored to be in the castle when Cintra fell.”

“Really? Fascinating. Has it come so far that Witcher’s have been forced to turn mercenaries?” Yennefer tried very hard to keep her voice still and uninterested. _I don’t care about him. It’s only magic._ She reminded herself.

“I wouldn’t know. Witcher’s were never my concern.” Tissaia sat carefully in a chair, arranging her skirts so that they fell just so around her feet. “Anyways, how are you doing? Well enough to read I see.”

“Yes. I’m doing much better. Those tinctures you make work well. Even I can’t refute that.”

“Good. Then perhaps you will be ready to travel soon.”

“Yes. I suppose.”

Two weeks after Yennefer first woke up, Tissaia came to visit her in the middle of the night. Yennefer awoke to see her sitting in her dark blue cloak at the side of the bed.

“I found them. The girl and your Witcher.” Tissaia said.

Six days later, Yennefer stepped through a portal and into a clearing in the woods, where a Witcher, a girl, and a bard looked up in surprise.


	8. A Nest of Birds (Guarded by A Wolf)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt gets adopted by a kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so much fluff. The fluffiest. It was inspired by some posts on Tumblr which mentioned Geralt finally being able to pet a cat. Basically credit goes to anyone who has ever posted anything on this subject

The arrow had pierced the bay deep, tearing the muscles of the leg. Geralt didn’t think as he cut across his throat. It was a kinder fate than letting the animal suffer.

The helmsman, who hadn’t spoken a word the whole journey, only watched in mute shock as the Witcher loaded his two companions onto Roach and left.

The plan originally had been to take the road that followed the Pontar until they came to the Lixela, and then follow that river up north. But now Geralt led them straight into the wilderness. The terrain here was still relatively open, but he knew from experience that after a few miles the trees would begin to close in again and they could loose their pursuers in the dense forests that populated Northwestern Kaedwen.

That first day, Geralt didn’t let them rest and pushed them well into the night. With Ciri and Jaskier riding, he kept up an inhumanly fast pace until the wee hours of the morning when even he was forced to stop. Even so, he refused to actually sleep, and only meditated long enough for Roach to eat and rest. Then he forced his companions back on the horse and kept going. In the distance, he could still hear the vague sounds of pursuit.

They kept the pace for another day, but by the third even Geralt had to admit that it was unlikely they were being followed that closely.

By the fourth day, they still kept a steady pace, but Geralt let them slow to something comfortable for humans to maintain.

They had been walking all day when they finally came across an abandonedfarmstead. The house was overgrown with vines, but the barn was still in good condition. The walls only had a few gaps and the roof looked solid. After several days of sleeping on the ground or in the saddle, they were grateful for the night of rest it promised.

Geralt went in first, but aside from the harmless smells of rodents, cats and birds, the barn seemed empty.

Not much was said as they got ready for bed. Even Jaskier, who normally had an inexhaustible ability to talk, was subdued.

The hayloft seemed questionably stable, so they spread out their bed rolls in one of the cleaner stalls and slept.

In the middle of the night, Geralt was woken from a light sleep by the strangest sound.

Small paw steps were making their way towards him, and the dusty scent of cat tickled his nose. Geralt cracked open his eyes and saw a bright orange kitten making its wobbly way towards him. When it got close enough it lurched to a stop and butted its little head into Geralt’s face.

In a state of shock, Geralt froze. As a general rule, cats did not like Witchers. In fact, they disliked them so much that there had never been a single cat at Kaer Morhen when he was growing up, and one of the boys’ many duties had been hunting down and trapping the many rats that thrived in their cat free environment. Eskel had once told him about the cats he could rememberer populating the farm where he was born, but since Geralt had been delivered to Kaer Morhen as an infant, it wasn’t until he was a full grown Witcher on the Path that he saw one for himself. And by then, any cat that he came close to would hiss and run away. He had never entertained the idea of petting one, because it never seemed like it would ever be an option.

Annoyed at his lack of response, the kitten head butted him again.

This time, Geralt tentatively reached out and lightly patted the kitten’s head with one finger. The creature was such a tiny thing, and still so clumsy with its young age, that Geralt was worried that anything more would injure it. But apparently the little beast disagreed, because it promptly reached up and grabbed his finger, rolling over onto its side before viciously attacking the captured digit with its teeth.

Geralt laughed. The sensation was oddly ticklish. He squirmed his finger a little and the kitten seemed to wriggle with joy. It was obviously quite pleased with its catch.

Geralt slowly shifted so he could prop himself up with his elbow, and gazed down in bafflement at the creature attacking his hand. He flexed his finger again, and this time the kitten toppled onto its back and let go. It stretched its little paws into the air, and flexed its tiny toes. Geralt frowned and poked it on the side. It rolled easily and tumbled into his chest. Geralt frowned harder. What was he supposed to do now?

Apparently, the answer was to go back to sleep. The kitten, having decided that it quite liked its new spot against Geralt’s chest, curled up and started to shake. Little half formed purrs shook its tiny frame. Within seconds, it was asleep.

The strangest feeling washed over Geralt, and before he knew it he was echoing the kitten’s sounds. A deeper purr, barely audible, rumbled out of the Witcher’s chest. It was not a response he had often, at least not while he was on the Path, so it startled Geralt for the first few moments when he realized that this little creature, in the few minutes it had known him, had made him more relaxed than he had been in literal years.

Several minutes later, Geralt fell asleep as well, still puzzling over that thought.

When he awoke, the kitten was gone. He pretended not to be disappointed.

Their breakfast consisted of the last of their rations and some berries that Ciri found growing behind the house. Geralt realized he would have to find some time to hunt soon, but for now they continued on their way.

Ciri and Jaskier were chatting amiably together as they walked a few paces in front while Geralt brought up the rear with Roach. They hadn’t even made it half an hour when Geralt noticed something strange. The Witcher sniffed the air carefully. The scent of cat, which he had expected to fade once they left the barn, was still strong. Stronger then a few hairs left on his clothes would warrant. He paused. Ciri and Jaskier kept walking.

From the saddle bag closest to him came a sudden squeak. Geralt cocked his head and listened. The squeak, which was more of a meow, came again.

Confused, Geralt opened the saddle bag.

Nested on top of the bag’s contents was the little orange kitten. As Geralt continued to stare, it raised its little head and meowed once more. Its little voice sounded very pleased.

“What are you doing there, little thing?”Geralt asked the kitten. “Don’t you have a mother?”

The kitten squeaked, and tried to clamber out of the bag. Geralt had to rescue it before it fell, and ended up holding the squirming creature in his hand. It promptly bit his finger again.

“”You’re a brave little kitten, I’ll give you that, but I don’t think you want to be tagging along with me. It’s not safe.” Geralt tried to sound stern. The kitten renewed its attack.

The others had finally noticed that he had stopped, and came trotting back.

“Did you say something Geralt? What’s that? Oh my, is that a kitten?” Jaskier exclaimed. “I thought cats didn’t like Witchers.” He drew back a moment and said, “Are you sure it’s not a monster in disguise?” 

“Hm”

“Oh a kitten. He’s so cute! Where on earth did he come from? Geralt, are you stealing kittens now?” Ciri asked, cooing over the creature in question and wiggling her fingers like she desperately wanted to snatch him up.

“No. Why would I steal a kitten? And how do you know it’s a boy?”

“Silly Witcher, everyone knows that orange cats are always boys.”Jaskier said imperiously. “Now come, let us hold him. Stop being such a hoarder.”

Geralt frowned, but handed over the kitten. Ciri and Jaskeir both looked like they had seen the most rapturous thing on earth. When Ciri wiggled her finger and the kitten latched on, she laughed with delight. A pure, unthinking sound that sparkled out across the morning stillness.

Geralt had to step back and take a moment. There was something about seeing his companions so unconditionally happy that made him want to retreat. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but whatever it was was too much. He wasn’t sure how to fit himself into such unbridled happiness.

Ciri turned wide imploring eyes on him. “Geralt, please can we keep him? He’s so sweet. And look how fierce he is. Please can we keep him?”

Jaskier didn’t beg, but he looked like he was about to.

Geralt hummed. “The Path is no place for a kitten. And Kaer Morhen gets cold in the winter. I don’t know if it would survive.” If looks could kill, he would be a pile of cinders right now.

“Nonsense.” Jaskier said. “If it’s warm enough for humans it’s warm enough for a cat. Besides, you’ve kept me alive all these years. How hard can a cat be?”

“How hard? It’s a cat, Jaskier. What the hell am I suppose to do with it when I’m busy hunting drowners in a swamp? Take it with? Leave it with Roach and hope it doesn’t wonder off? What am I even supposed to feed it?”

Jaskier had a particularly annoying look on his face, like he thought Geralt was stupid.

Ciri finally looked up from where she had been focused on the kitten. “You can feed it meat. I used to have cats growing up, and I think this one is old enough for solid food. You already hunt for us on a regular basis, and besides, cats hardly eat as much as humans do.”

“Oh just give it up already Geralt. I know you’re already besotted with that little critter. So stop playing at being all grouchy and just admit that you’ve already adopted him.” Jaskier said, and promptly deposited the kitten into Geralt’s hands. The kitten chirped happily and proceeded to crawl up Geralt’s arm to his shoulder, where he perched himself quite contentedly. His grip was surprisingly sturdy for such a small thing.

Ciri made more cooing noises. “I think he likes you. Oooh, if we’re adopting him, does this mean he gets a name? He has to get a name.” She said the last bit in the same manner that Geralt imagined her grandmother used to give battle commands. Loud and firm.

“Oh yes. Names are very important. Geralt, you were the one who found him. Any thoughts?”

Geralt thought. “Roach?”

“Roach?! Roach?! Are you mad? You can’t…ugh…You already have a Roach!” Jaskier spluttered.

Ciri cringed. “How about….Casper?” She provided.

“Casper? No, I don’t think so. Sounds too much like a trouble maker. How about Buttercup?” Jaskier retorted.

Ciri made a face and promptly made another suggestion.

The conversation continued in a similar fashion, with the two trading back and forth increasingly impossible sounding names, for the next half hour at least. But at least they started moving again, so Geralt couldn’t complain.

As they walked, the kitten stayed perched on Geralt’s shoulder, even though the Witcher was fairly sure it had fallen asleep at some point.

Eventually however, the kitten announced its awakening with increasingly loud yowling noises, until both Jaskier and Ciri pointed out that he was probably hungry and bullied Geralt into stopping even though it wasn’t even noon yet.

When he returned from hunting with a brace of rabbits, he found his companions entertaining the kitten around the small camp fire they had built up.

The oak grove they were sheltering in still had most of its leaves, and their gentle rustling was a soothing counterpoint to the laughter of the two humans. Roach, who was usually busy finding food and ignoring her traveling companions, seemed to have taken an odd liking to the kitten.

The kitten was in the process of hunting a pile of leaves. It crouched and leapt forward, only to disappear in the foliage. The mare lowered her large head and sniffed at the pile, only to jerk back when the kitten suddenly exploded from under his leafy coverage. In response, Jaskier and Ciri fell over laughing. 

Geralt frowned and set about preparing the food. He dutifully set aside a pile of raw meat, and once the humans were happily consuming their fully cooked meal, Geralt carefully tore the meat into bite sized pieces and fed them to the kitten.

After that, it seemed a waste to leave the rest of the meat, so they spent the rest of the day building up the fire and smoking the remaining rabbit into jerky.

As evening fell, Geralt was surprised to find that he was not angry with the delay.

He still felt nervous about being found, and his skin itched to be safely back at Kaer Morhen, but he didn’t feel like he was about to go stir crazy if they didn’t immediately pack up and get moving.

Despite everything, despite being hunted and being forced to hide in the wilderness. Despite having no idea what to do with the child he had accidentally acquired and somehow already loved more than he had ever thought possible, Geralt felt himself relax.

There were still shadows lurking in his mind, waiting for the right moment to remind him of all the ways he had failed and had yet to fail. He was worried about being caught or not making it to Kaer Morhen in time, he was confused about where he stood with the bard, and deep inside and hidden by an iron door he was terrified about what might have happened to Yennefer at the Battle of Sodden. Storms still gathered every which way he looked, but at least for tonight they seemed a little further away.

Jaskier was playing one of the older, more traditional songs that he only pulled out when he wasn’t performing. Ciri was nestled safely in her warm blanket, gazing sleepily at the fire. And the kitten was curled up purring in Geralt’s lap. He gazed down at his little orange body, and smiled.

“His name is Leaf.” He said unprompted.

Jaskier only stumbled somewhat over his playing. “What?”

Ciri poked her head up. “Whose name?”

“The cat’s.” Geralt said. “His name is leaf.”

“Leaf.” Jaskier said, unimpressed. “Leaf and Roach. You really have a talent you know. Care to enlighten us as to where this stroke of genius came from?”

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, and shook his head. In his mind, he saw the kitten getting ready to pounce on a pile of leaves. As far as first kills went, it wasn’t terribly impressive, he figured. But it was a good start.


	9. (Never Underestimate) The Cunning of Ravens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer joins the gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer's voice was surprisingly hard to write- sorry it took so long

When Yennefer of Vengerberg stepped through a portal into their little clearing, Jaskier wasn’t quite sure what to think.

Shock, for sure, was the first thing he felt. Followed by a healthy dose of fear, because Yennefer was a wild card at the best of times. But on the heels of those much more reasonable reactions was an insidious dash of jealousy. Of course, just when he was starting to regain his footing with Geralt, she had to show up.

Despite the growing chill in the air, they had been enjoying a quiet evening after another day of suffering Geralt’s grueling walking pace. Their campsite for the night was underneath a small rocky overhang, which blocked the wind and kept them warm enough that they didn’t immediately curl up under their bedrolls and go to sleep. Instead, Jaskier sat ideally strumming his lute while Ciri entertained Leaf by running a thin twig across the ground. Geralt, as always, looked on stoically, but he didn’t say anything to stop them either.

All things considered, it was a very good evening. An evening which was quite suddenly interrupted by the unnatural rushing sound of a portal opening right in front of them. Before it could even fully form, Geralt jumped forward, placing himself in front of Ciri with his sword drawn. Jaskier startled so badly he accidentally pulled so sharply against a lute string that it released a gods awful twang. Even Leaf turned to hiss at the intrusion. Cats, Jaskeir was reminded, could sense magic.

But rather than the expected rush of enemy soldiers or some other dastardly threat, out of the portal stepped a familiar figure in black and white.

Suddenly the evening had a very different feel to it.

Geralt’s reaction was as immediate as it was heartbreaking. He sheathed his sword and took two staggering steps towards Yennefer. His arms twitched, as if to reach for her.

But as quick as he had been to move, Geralt came to a stop. Like an iron portcullis being shuttered, Jaskier could see the moment that he remembered that his embrace was no longer welcome. His expression was so painfully open that Jaskeir had to look away.

Jaskier sighed and stood, swinging his lute around to rest against his back. He brushed off his pants and moved to stand facing Yennefer, placing himself between her and Geralt. If nothing else, he could give the man a chance to collect himself.

“Yennefer. This is rather a surprise, and non more so then because we weren’t sure if you were still alive.” Jaskier greeted her coolly.

A complicated series of emotions crossed the mage’s face, only to be diligently pushed aside. Jaskier noticed that even with him standing in front of her, she still hand’t quite taken her eyes off of Geralt. The two of them and their obsessive pining would surely be the death of him.

“Jaskier. I’m offended that you think so little of my abilities. Why would I be dead?”

“Well, I don’t know, big Battle of Sodden? No trace of a certain, fiery, violet eyed sorceress? Ring any bells? You weren’t exactly seen prancing through the local taverns or anything, what were we supposed to think?”

“I don’t prance! And don’t pretend to care for me for Geralt’s sake, its already painful enough to see you begging for his attention without adding ass-kissing to the list.”

“I…You..I do not…!” This conversation was quickly getting out of hand.

“Yen.” Thankfully, Geralt’s rough voice broke through the tension. “Yen. What are you doing here?” He said her name like the sounds themselves were precious.

“I’m here to help you, believe it or not. In fact, I’ve been following you for some days now and if it weren’t for me you’d be knee deep in enemy soldiers right now. Do you have any idea how many people are looking for you?” Yennefer snapped.

“For me?”

“No, not you exactly. For the girl. You just happen to be in the way.” Yennefer looked pointedly over Geralt’s shoulder at the ashen haired girl who had been carefully crouched by the fire this whole time. With a knife in her hand and a fierce glint in her eyes, she hardly looked like a princess of Cintra, but her hair and the company she kept made it impossible to mistake her for anyone else.

“What do you want with Ciri?” Geralt demanded. It was nice to know that even completely besotted with Yennefer, he still didn’t trust her singling out his charge.

Yennefer, for her part, looked somewhat taken a back at his immediate protective response. “What do I want with her? Well, I reckon the same thing you want, judging by your reaction. I want to protect her.”

Jaskier had to choke back a laugh. “You? Want to protect a girl you’ve never met? You must really think we’re stupid if you think you can pull a lie like that over our heads. I may not like you but I know you better then that, there’s something more.”

“So astute, really Jaskier, it’s a wonder you haven’t made something out of yourself by now. Or is it that you just enjoy slumming it through the wilderness?” Yennefer was the only person Jaskier knew who could take what should be a complement and turn it so completely into an insult. “But you're right. I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Nilfgaard, and most of Temeria and Redania, are looking for that girl and are playing by very dirty tricks to find her. Since I’ve decided that I would rather not let Nilfgaard conquer all the northern kingdoms, I decided I might as well stop them from getting this one thing as well.”

That did sound like exactly the kind of meticulous and almost petty kind of strategies that Yennefer favored. 

Jaskier was about to respond with another objection, however, Ciri finally decided that she had had enough of standing in the background and stepped forward, dodging around Geralt’s protective hand, and announced to the group at large, “I think Yennefer is supposed to be here. I think she’s supposed to teach me magic.”

After the beat of silence that followed that statement, the campsite descended once more into argument.

* * *

Yennefer had no idea what she had been expecting when she stepped through that portal. She knew that she would find Geralt and Ciri, most likely roughing it in some dank forest. She wasn’t even that surprised to find that the bard was there as well. He had a way of sticking himself to Geralt whenever something interesting was going on.

Beyond that, however, she had made vey little speculation. There were some situations, Yennefer had found, where it was best to do as little thinking about it as possible in order to lesson the time spent having to deal with the unpleasantness.

Seeing Geralt again had been like a shock of lightning to the blood. Both energizing and infuriating The vulnerability in his face, in those first few seconds when he realized it was her, had brought back every reason why it was a terrible and inevitable idea to have feelings for him.

Jaskier, to no one’s shock, had been as blithely irritating as he always was. He interrogated her motives and generally questioned her decency on every level. Geralt just looked confused and in over his head.

Ciri, however, had been the biggest shock.

It was true what she had told them, that she was there to protect the girl. After long and heated discussions with Tissaia, she had agreed that letting Nilfgaard get their hands on something which they so desperately wanted was probably a bad thing. And that while they were at it they probably shouldn’t let Nilfgaard’s northern opponents get a hold of her either.

Yennefer also couldn’t ignore the fact that Ciri was Geralt’s child of surprise, and no matter what she was or wasn’t feeling in regards to the Witcher, she couldn’t get the thought out of her head that if Geralt knew his child was in danger, he would’ve done something about it. As angry as she had been when she first found out about how he had reacted to gaining a child surprise, she knew him well enough, and respected him well enough even after everything, to know that he would never leave a child in danger when he had any kind of say over it.

Also, she was curious about what kind of child destiny would see fit to attach to a Witcher, and though she could hardly admit it to herself, there was a part of her that cared about the child if only because she knew that its death would cause Geralt pain.

It didn’t help that Tissaia most definitelyknew or at least sensed Yennefer’s personal reasons for being interested in the child, and had spent her entire recovery gently and then not so gently nudging her to go after Ciri.

After Tissaia had brought back news that both Ciri and Geralt had been spotted in Flotsam and surrounded by powerful magic no less, that Yennefer had finally agreed and they had set about discussing a strategy. Yennefer knew that Geralt would be doing everything within his power to protect his child surprise, and that walking in blind would not be helpful.

So the two sorceresses had put Tissaia’s impressive resources to use, and had ferreted out quite a few interested parties who were pursing the lost princess.

Besides from the obvious Nilfgaardian hunters, there were also the Temerian soldiers who had encountered the pair in Flotsam, and were pursuing them to extract revenge for the deaths caused by their escape from that place. On top of that, rumors of Ciri’s importance had reached the Redanians as well, and the royal spy master, Sigismund Dijkstra, had begun sending larger and increasingly dangerous hunting parties to find her.

After that particular revelation, they had put all their efforts towards tracking Geralt themselves and had eventually pinpointed the proper location. Mostly thanks to Yennefer’s prior knowledge of Geralt’s habits, from which she surmised that the Witcher would be taking the girl to Kaer Morhen to protect. And then after gathering a few essential supplies, she had stepped through a portal and right into their campsite.

The resulting discussion upon her entrance was fairly standard, until the girl in question had stepped forward and made her announcement.

It was revealed that the girl had some mysterious magical talent that no one could quite make heads or tails of, but that Geralt was sure was somehow inherited and very powerful. He was also sure that she had some form of prophetic dreams as she had apparently dreamt of him looking for Yennefer on Sodden Hill before she had even met him.

They spent the next hour talking in circles. Jaskier was throwing increasingly desperate insults at her trying to expose her supposed nefarious designs, while Geralt was caught between trying to explain the girl’s magical talent, keep the peace between the sorcerers and the bard, and throw in his two cents about wether or not Yennefer should stay and teach Ciri magic.

Yennefer, for her part, was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Geralt had managed to tie himself to the only child on the continent who was running around with untold magical ability and also get over her own visceral reaction to seeing the child up close.

If one wasn’t aware that Witcher’s could not have biological children, it would have been perfectly understandable to mistake Ciri as Geralt’s offspring. The two looked painstakingly alike.

Though there were obvious differences between the two, one was soft and small where the other was large and rough, there was a aching similarity in the way they stood, like they were always expecting the world to hit them first, and in the way their eyes always cast around to track their surroundings except for when they looked directly at you as if you were the only thing that existed. And in the fading light, Ciri’s ashen locks and Geralt’s snow while hair seemed eerily similar.

There was no way to deny the connection between the two. 

This was going to be a long and painful trip.


	10. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Yen have a chat

Geralt woke sometime during the dark hours between midnight and morning. He had slept only fitfully before that. What little sleep he had been able to get had been filled with troubling dreams that he had forgotten as soon as he woke. 

So deciding to finally give up on sleep as a lost cause, he stood up. Ciri was still laying next to him, and looked to be sleeping peacefully for once. Jaskier, as always, was deep asleep on the other side of the fire. But Yennefer was missing. 

She had not, to everyone’s surprise, brought one of her enchanted tents with her. Instead, she simply had an extremely luscious bed roll that packed down into a suspiciously small packet. 

Her bed roll now lay empty though, a little ways away from the fire where she had set it up. But Geralt didn’t have to look hard to find her. The moon was full enough that even a human would have been able to navigate the night, let alone a Witcher. 

Yennefer had climbed to the top of the rocky structure under which they had set up camp, and was sitting with her legs dangling off the edge. The pose was almost childlike, if one ignored the fact that the position gave her a perfect view point from which to not only observe her companions sleeping below but also the most likely angle from which intruders might come. She didn’t say anything when Geralt sat down beside her, but since she didn’t do anything to actively chase him away, he decided to count that as a win. 

“Do you know why Nilfgaard wants her?” Geralt asked.

“you mean besides the fact that she’s the only remaining royal of a country they just sacked, and might want to ensure that she isn’t running around raising the resistance?”

“Yes, besides that.”

“Honestly, I have no idea. I did what I could to find out, but between having to keep a low profile myself and not wanting to attract attention to yourself, I wasn’t able to get much. Something tells me that even the soldiers who are so desperately searching for her are not aware of the reasons for their doing so.”

“Somehow, I don’t find that reassuring at all.” 

“No, I imagine not. Do you have any idea why they might want her? You have been traveling with her for the last few weeks after all.” Yennefer kept her tone uninterested, but Geralt wasn’t fooled. 

“Why are you here Yen? And not because you want to protect Ciri out of the goodness of your heart-“ He held up a hand to stall her, “I know you weren’t lying. But you do have to admit, it’s a little out of character for you. So, why are you really here?”

Yennefer gave him a long thoughtful look. Her violet eyes were no less bright even in the dim lighting. “You think I’m here because of Ciri’s powers. Because I want to use them for something.”

Geralt wanted to look away, but made himself meet her gaze. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone after a powerful source of magic for your own gain.” 

“Hah! So typical of you. Here I am, come to your aid when no one else could, and you sit there and accuse me of ulterior motives. Are you so rich in allies that you can afford to insult me so blithely?”

“I wasn’t…Yen, it wasn’t an insult. This is what you always do. You take everything I say and twist it! I….” Geralt cut himself off. Five minutes in and already Yennefer was spitting mad, and he could feel his own frustration raising to meet her. 

They sat in silence for the next several minutes. The gentle sounds of a forest at night filtered in, along with the faded scent of their doused campfire. If he concentrated enough, he could also make out the soothing sounds of two heartbeats beating in the slow rhythm of sleep. Helplessly, Geralt wished that everything outside of this moment would just forget about them and let them be. 

Yennefer finally stirred. She brought he knees up and rested her chin on them. The delicate pose made Geralt ache to put his arm around her. “Look at us. Fighting already. And you know the best thing? You weren’t even that far off. I don’t do things out of altruism.”

“I am happy you’re here. I didn’t say it, but thank you. I…I do need allies.” 

“Did that hurt? It’s not often you admit to needing aid.”

“Hmmm.”

“But you’re welcome.” Yennefer stretched out her legs again. He head was tilted up and her eyes were focused somewhere in the middle distance. “To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure myself why I’m here. Gods know I owe you nothing.”

Geralt tried to ignore the stab to his heart. “Hmm.”

“I think after Sodden, I just didn’t want Nilfgaard getting their hands on one more thing. And I knew, well…”

“What?”

“I knew she was your child surprise.”

“I thought you didn’t owe me anything.”

“I don’t. Don’t ask.” Yennefer stood up and brushed down her impeccable skirts. She was dressed as always in black and white. A thick brocade skirt trimmed in white ermine. Hardly practical for travel, but somehow flowing skirts never seemed to get in the way of any sorceress Geralt had ever met.

“Yen, wait…”

“There’s no point Geralt. The time for that has past. I’m here to protect Ciri. Nothing more.”

“There’s more. Don’t try to fool me. You know there’s more.” Geralt stood up. There were so many words. So many things that he wanted to say. About the mountain. About the djinn. About how he didn’t care why she was here as long as she stayed. He didn’t say anything.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Sleep well.”

Yennefer turned and climbed down to her bed roll.

Geralt could hear her moving around. Turning back and forth the way she always did before she could settle into sleep. He knew that they had an early start ahead of them, and had no doubt that tomorrow would be a trying day for all of them. But he stayed where he was for a long time, and didn’t try to go back to sleep until the night was almost over.


End file.
